A Furious Mouse
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When an angry and wounded Cissie King-Jones collapses onto the doorstep of her home with Ollie, Dinah finds herself reluctantly playing nurse. Sequel to "An Early Rose."
1. Chapter 1

"Pah!" quoth Robin Hood, "the sight of such a fellow doth put a nasty taste into my mouth! Look how he doth hold that fair flower betwixt his thumb and finger, as he would say, `Good rose, I like thee not so ill but I can bear thy odor for a little while.' I take it ye are both wrong, and verily believe that were a furious mouse to run across his path, he would cry, `La!' or `Alack-a-day!' and fall straightway into a swoon. I wonder who he may be."

"Some great baron's son, I doubt not," answered Little John, "with good and true men's money lining his purse."

_—The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_

* * *

It was late when Oliver returned to the safe house they were using for the night—not late enough for Dinah to be worried, but late enough that tension had crept into her shoulders as she waited for him to arrive. She was tired, her muscles sore from spending the entire day at the Watchtower, giving sparring sessions and working with whoever needed the help, going for as long as any of them could manage. While she was proud of the progress she'd seen various members make and would be returning in a few days to continue their training, she would be lying if she said she didn't dearly long to go home and go to bed.

But she needed to stay awake for Oliver. They took turns going out on patrol, one of them always remaining behind just in case they needed to rush to the aid of the other instead of both of them being captured at once. It had happened often enough before that they'd both agreed to the precaution.

So Dinah waited up for him, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when her husband walked through the front door with a buoyant call of, "I'm home!"

"You're later than usual," Dinah remarked as Oliver walked into the living room.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to worry you," Oliver apologized. "I was waiting on Scarlock. She didn't show." He frowned. "Again."

Scarlock, formerly Arrowette, was a young archer Oliver had taken under his wing after she'd been drummed out of the Young Justice team. Dinah and Oliver themselves were still unclear of the specifics on why, and Bruce still refused to say, but her exit from the team had something to do with her parents—possibly not having any.

Personally, Dinah had never met the girl, so she had no strong feelings on her beyond thinking that the name she used sounded like something a masked heel in professional wrestling would call themselves. But a strange inkling of unease always swelled within Dinah at the mention of her name, and she couldn't explain why. It wasn't because she felt threatened by her—Ollie had a habit of adopting strays and nursing them until whatever ills they had were cured and they found their way back, so Dinah had grown accustomed to his attention being focused on someone else rather than her.

She couldn't even chalk up her wariness of Scarlock to suspicions of her motives. Dinah had gone the extra mile and secured the surveillance tapes from the Secret Sanctuary to study the girl's movements, check to see if she recognized her in the same way Oliver had. Which she did, though like him, it was a mystery as to why. But other than that and concluding that Scarlock was an immensely talent combatant, Dinah found nothing of note about her.

And yet, somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that this girl was about to throw her life with Oliver into major upheaval.

"It's been almost a week now," Oliver went on, concern evident on his face as he sat down beside Dinah on the couch. "I know I'm not responsible for her, but I wonder if I should get in touch with her friends, check if they've seen her recently." Doubt entered his voice. "Don't know how she'll take it when she finds out I've been asking about her, though."

Therein lay the paradox of Ollie and Scarlock's relationship. He was something like a mentor to her, but he wasn't her actual mentor. Sometimes she showed up to accompany him on patrol, sometimes she didn't. She came and went as she pleased without Oliver having much of a say about it. And given the massive chip on her shoulder that Ollie had described even before the League had forced her out of her team, she wouldn't take kindly to a League member who came looking for her.

And yet, Oliver was an adult superhero. Scarlock was still a minor. He had a duty of care toward her, whether or whether not she liked it. But that duty wasn't especially useful if it just ended up driving her further away, the very fear of Ollie's that had brought him to intervene in Scarlock's life in the first place.

Now, Dinah reached out a hand, laying it on Oliver's shoulder to reassure him. "I'm sure she'll turn up sooner or later," she said, trying to be convincing. In their business, missing heroes was often the first sign of trouble. But she wasn't sure precisely what it meant for someone like Scarlock, who really didn't have an established haunt or connections outside of her team. "After all, it's not like anything was ever set in stone with her."

"You're right," Oliver admitted as they stood to leave. "I'm probably worrying over nothing. It's just—"

A loud clattering from the front door interrupted them as their alarm system began to flash and buzz, specifically designed to alert only them and not any of their neighbors if it was tripped.

Exchanging a glance, Dinah and Ollie raced to the front hall, readying for a fight.

But what they found was not some fearsome foe or loathsome villain, but a wounded teenager in red whose mask had almost been torn off her face, the rest of the her visible skin scratched and scraped, her sweat and blood-soaked blonde hair spilling over one shoulder.

"N-n-no hospitals," she barely managed to gasp out as she staggered past the threshold, before tumbling to the ground.

Rushing forward, Oliver barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Who is she?" Dinah asked, immediately going to check the girl's pulse and assess her injuries. "How did she know to go here?"

"Because I told her," Oliver said grimly. "Dinah, meet Scarlock."

* * *

Dinah was the one to vote to bring in Hal. Oliver had been against the idea ("You know I love the man, but you also know much he prioritizes the Man."), but Dinah had won eventually.

"We don't know who or what did this to her," she'd pointed out as she dabbed iodine across Scarlock's cheek. "We might need the back-up."

Now, Scarlock lay on top of the covers of the double bed in one of the many guest rooms at the Queen mansion. Dinah had dressed her in a pair of flannel pajamas Ma Hunkel had made for her that she'd never worn, and she and Ollie had both done their best to towel the blood out of her hair.

Still, the reddish-brown stains were evident under the bright green glow of Hal's ring until it abruptly faded with a monotone "Scan complete."

"Well?" Oliver demanded, his arms folded across his chest and his shoulders tense.

"She's not badly hurt," Hal assured the two of them as a green hospital chart materialized before him. "Her biggest concern is exhaustion and low blood sugar—she hasn't eaten regularly for the last few days, and it's weakened her considerably. I'd say she's been on the run from something." He consulted the chart with a frown. "Most of her other injuries are superficial, cuts and scratches, and according to the ring She has some heavy bruising, particularly on her torso, but I'd put that down to significant fall rather than a beating. Right now, she's running a low-grade fever, which we'll need to keep an eye on, but right now, it's nothing to worry about."

"Thank God," Oliver muttered, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Dinah found herself relaxing as well at the new, worry for both Scarlock and a potential new threat fading from her mind.

"It is good news," Hal agreed. "Of course, now that we know she's not seriously hurt, I've got some questions." He looked from Dinah to Oliver. "Who is she? How do you know her?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know her that well, actually. She used to be Arrowette on the Young Justice team. She couldn't get parental approval to remain on the team, so she couldn't stay on the roster. Goes by the name Scarlock now. Sometimes she comes around and helps me out. But most of the time, she keeps her distance."

"And this unknown teenager has the key to one of your safe houses because why, exactly?" Hal asked skeptically.

Dinah found herself bristling at the insinuation. "Because we talked it over, and we agreed that he should give Scarlock a place to go if she ever needed it. Which she did. Hence why she's here." Folding her arms over her chest, she gave Hal a hard stare. "Are you going to ask us why we brought her into our home, now?"

"I am curious," Hal admitted.

"Better protection in case someone or something was after her," Oliver replied matter-of-factly. "I got Mister Miracle to help us build our security system, and Dinah brought in Hawkman, too. We don't just have home defense, we have home offense, courtesy of New Genesis and the Thanagarians."

"Fair enough," Hal conceded. He glanced at Scarlock again. "I'm guessing you've already considered that she herself could be a threat?"

"If she wanted to kill Oliver, she's had plenty of opportunities," Dinah pointed out. "It's not like she would need to be in our home to do that."

"Seriously." Oliver glanced at the still unconscious Scarlock. "Someone with her talent wouldn't even need to be within two hundred yards to put an arrow through my neck."

"Yeah, okay. Even if you're convinced she's not playing you, like I said, all signs point to her being on the run. What if she's a fugitive?" Hal questioned exasperatedly. "And if that's not the case, either, what about the consequences of harboring some young kid you're not officially supposed to know? What are her parents going to say?"

"Her parents don't have custody of her. That's all I know. But if you want more details than that, talk to Bats. I tried to pry it out of him weeks ago, and he shut me down," Oliver replied, testiness entering his voice. "In the meantime, I'll keep an eye out for APBs describing a blonde teenage bowwoman."

"Do you think I'm trying to be a contrarian?" Hal retorted. "You've got this habit, Ollie, of diving into situations headfirst without ever stopping to consider the consequences. Someone's got to look out for you." After a pause, he sent a guilty glance Dinah's way. "Er, no offense, Di."

Dinah sighed, dismounting the chair she'd been straddling and moving to sit on the bed. "None taken this time, Hal." She offered him a half-smile. "Part of the reason we asked you here is because we wanted to get the opinion of someone outside of the situation." She looked at Scarlock, pale and unmoving on the bed. "And you're certainly right about her just being a kid."

While she knew that Scarlock had been a minor, it had still been a shock to Dinah to pull the mask off the girl's face to clean her wounds and realize just how young she actually was. Somehow she'd figured her for seventeen, almost eighteen, but Scarlock couldn't have been more than fifteen, if that.

Dinah herself had been a teenager when she'd begun her training with the Justice Society. But as an adult, it made her stomach twist to see children putting on costumes and then rushing off to fight the bad guys. Especially a kid like Scarlock, who was so oddly familiar. It wrenched something low in Dinah's gut to see her with those injuries.

A brief silence settled between them, which Hal broke. "What's going to happen to her now?"

"She can stay with us," Oliver replied immediately. "As long as she'd like." Belatedly, he glanced at Dinah. "As long as that's okay with you," he added a touch sheepishly.

"I'm not going to turn an ill child out onto the street, Ollie," Dinah responded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "You're not the only one in the room with a heart, you know."

"You've got a great heart," Hal agreed. "But you're also supposed to be leading a recon mission to Bialya fifteen hours from now. I'm on your squad." He raised an eyebrow at Ollie. "Don't tell me you forgot?"

Oliver paused. "I must have forgotten," he confessed. "I'll do something about it. I'll—"

Dinah realized what had to happen. "You'll go on the mission, and I'll stay here to take care of Scarlock," she interrupted. "You can't let down the League. But you don't want to let down Scarlock. You do one, and I'll take care of the other."

Oliver hesitated. "I'll be gone for at least a week. And I don't want to dump my problems into your lap, Dinah."

"I'm volunteering," she corrected him. She glanced at Scarlock again. "This kid was on the run from something. I wouldn't be able to call myself a hero if I didn't at least try to help her."

"Thank you," Oliver said with obvious relief.

"You're welcome," Dinah replied, doing her best to ignore that strange nagging feeling whenever the topic of Scarlock was at hand.

* * *

By the time Oliver left, Scarlock had woken up several times, but she was confused and disoriented on each occasion. Her fever had gotten worse. They'd both taken turns sitting with her, getting her to swallow a few sips of water, and Oliver had convinced her to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, but her condition was steadily deteriorating.

"You sure you're going to be all right with her?" Oliver worried as he prepared to beam up to the Watchtower.

"I'll be fine," Dinah told him, ignoring her unease and giving him a kiss goodbye. "If her fever goes up any more, I'll call in a favor from Doc Mid-Nite and ask him to come help me out."

When she returned to sit with Scarlock after exchanging goodbyes with her husband, she checked her forehead, frowning at how warm it remained, and found herself studying the girl's face. It still stymied Dinah about why she looked familiar, bothering her to distraction that she couldn't determine the cause. Almost desperately, she tried to find something remarkable about the girl's face if only to concentrate on it as she tried to place her.

But she found nothing. At most, she could say that Scarlock looked like a china doll, with pale, smooth skin other than the scratches on her face, long, thick eyelashes, and fine, even features. The girl was pretty even while injured, which Dinah was sure would be useful to her if she ever wanted to fake being wounded to get the drop on a mark, but it wasn't useful for trying to recognize her.

Eventually the day's events caught up with her—it had been almost a full thirty-six hours since she'd slept. And before Dinah knew it, she was waking up after having fallen asleep, opening her eyes and pushing herself up off the mattress of the guest room bed.

Snapping into awareness, she instantly glanced beside herself to check on her charge and was startled to find an empty bed. But she barely took the time to be surprised—instead, she double-checked the room to make sure it was empty (it was) and then grabbed her JLA communicator, checking to see if there were any messages from Oliver or Hal or anyone to explain Scarlock's absence (there weren't).

Without a moment of hesitation, Dinah began checking the mansion room by room.

"Scarlock?" she called once experimentally, stopping to listen to see if she could hear any footsteps or other sounds in response.

Nothing. The mansion was silent.

After combing over the second floor and the first, Dinah came to stand by the breakfast nook in the kitchen, flummoxed. Maybe Scarlock had just up and left? But she'd been so ill before that Dinah found it hard to believe she'd had the strength to make it out the door.

As she stood there puzzling it out, a familiar sound registered in her ears: the steady thunk of arrow after arrow piercing a foam target.

Racing out the back and down the patio steps, Dinah made her way to the high-walled courtyard at the edge of their backyard, seeing immediately that the heavy wooden door that led into it had been left open. And upon stepping through, it became clear that Scarlock had found Oliver's home archery range.

As Dinah watched in incredulity, the girl stood there in oversized pajamas and bare feet and pulled the arrow back on the bow, wavered for just a moment, but then let it fly. In less than a second, the shaft came to a shuddering in the dead center of bullseye, joining numerous others that were already there.

Oliver hadn't been exaggerating about her talent. Even fevered and weak, she could still hit her mark dead on, time and time again.

At the sight of her victory, Scarlock threw back her head and laughed dizzily, the bright morning sunlight gleaming on her pale golden hair, the rusty brown spots of dried blood still apparent.

"Goal," she declared, her voice rasping out of her throat as she swayed on her feet.

It was in that moment that Dinah realized the girl was delirious and that she herself needed to act right away.

Scarlock reached back into Oliver's spare quiver for another arrow, but Dinah stopped her before she had the chance.

"You need to be resting," she informed her firmly but calmly, plucking the bow out of her hands and unstrapping the quiver from her shoulders.

With all weapons safely away from any feverish teenagers, Dinah firmly wrapped one arm around her shoulders so she was pinning Scarlock to her side and felt her forehead with the other hand.

"Christ, you're burning up!" Dinah exclaimed, alarmed at the heat emanating from the girl's skin. She tugged her forward. "Let's go back into the house." She frantically searched for solutions, and only one came into her mind. "I'm going to run you a cooling bath." It probably wasn't the best thing to do with an underage teenager, but she was short on options at the moment.

Scarlock shook her head, weakly trying to resist. "Got to practice. Always practice. Every day. Have to, or I hear her getting on my case about it."

"You don't have to practice right now," Dinah told her, easily steering her along, only hesitating to make sure Scarlock wasn't about to stumble and fall.

"She's in my head," Scarlock muttered. " 'S more me than I'm me. She'll never go away now."

That particular statement did bring Dinah to stop, and she turned to look at Scarlock directly. "Who do you want to go away?" she asked, a vague dread beginning to trickle through her. "Who is it, Scarlock?"

But Scarlock didn't answer her, just looked at her with her big blue eyes that were clouded with fever. "That's why I stopped being Arrowette," she said, replying to a question that wasn't asked. "Couldn't be Cissie, didn't want to be Arrowette. Had to be Scarlock."

"Cissie," Dinah repeated. "Is that your real name?"

"Couldn't be her," Scarlock replied, before shuddering and beginning to tremble violently.

Scarlock's identity would have to wait for another day.

"Come on." Dinah looped an arm around her waist, guiding her to the house. "We need to get that fever down."

* * *

After Dinah helped her into the cooling bath and then dressed her in fresh pajamas, Scarlock went back to sleep, staying that way for almost an entire day, and then her fever finally broke. When Dinah went to check on her early the next morning, she was awake and alert, if somewhat pale and drawn.

"Oh, thank God," Dinah said in relief as she found Scarlock standing before one of the large windows. "Glad you're feeling better. You gave us quite a fright, you know." Knowing the girl still probably didn't have her full strength back, Dinah tried to keep her tone as light as possible.

But Scarlock evidently didn't care for kid gloves. "Who are you? And where am I?" Her eyes were blazing, her form tense as she watched Dinah's approach.

Dinah stifled sigh, not caring for her attitude even if the girl's questions were understandable. "My name is Dinah Lance. You're in my home." She deliberately left Ollie out of it, unwilling to reveal his identity. "Green Arrow brought you here after you turned up bruised and bleeding on his doorstep. That was two nights ago—this is your third day here at the house."

Scarlock's eyes widened. "Three days?" Her voice was vaguely panicked. "I don't remember any of that."

"You were out for a lot of it. You had a bad fever," Dinah told her. "You were delirious at some points." Again, she purposefully left out the incident at the archery range, knowing it would tie Oliver to her.

Scarlock froze, panic taking full form on her face. "Did I say anything?" she demanded sharply. "While I was delirious?"

Curious and curiouser. Scarlock was clearly concerned she'd revealed something during her illness. Dinah wondered what it could be. Her identity, maybe?

She kept her voice casual as she responded. "You were worried about practicing archery. You kept on saying someone was 'in your head,' if I recall."

Scarlock's eyes narrowed, but she offered no explanation.

"And," Dinah continued, noting her lack of reaction, "you mentioned that you couldn't be Arrowette." She watched the girl carefully. "Or Cissie."

Scarlock startled slightly at the name, but Dinah didn't miss that her muscles visibly relaxed almost instantly afterward. Whatever secret Scarlock had been keeping apparently remained such.

Hmm.

"Is that your real name?" Dinah prodded her. "Cissie?"

Scarlock scowled at her but then stopped, giving only an uncaring shrug. "I don't use it much." Leaving the window, she pushed past Dinah, intent on making her way into the hall. "Where's my gear? I should get going."

"Wait." Dinah snagged her arm. "Don't go just yet. Green Arrow isn't here now, but he'll want to talk to you before you leave."

"People in hell want ice water." Scarlock, or rather, Cissie, snarled as she yanked her arm out of Dinah's grip and tried to move past her again.

Thoroughly annoyed by this girl's utter lack of gratitude, Dinah called her on it. "That's an awfully nice way to repay the man who made sure to get you to safety and the person who took you into her home."

Cissie paused, before turning back to look at Dinah, and for a moment, it seemed like she might have come to an epiphany. But that idea was crushed under her next question.

"And just who the hell is Green Arrow to you?" she demanded, as if personally offended by Dinah invoking his name.

Dinah wasn't giving an inch, and she folded her arms across her chest as she fixed Cissie with a flinty gaze. "I could ask you the same question."

Realization flashed briefly across Cissie's face before she scowled again. "You're his wife." It was a declaration rather than a question.

Dinah didn't respond, just continued with her hard stare.

The newfound knowledge seemed to physically weaken Cissie, and she collapsed onto the edge of mattress, holding her head in her hands. Dinah had no idea what to think of the display.

But at least she got Cissie's agreement.

"Fine," Cissie said defeatedly with an exhausted sigh. "Fine, Mrs. Green Arrow. I'll stay."

* * *

Though her fever was gone, it was clear that Cissie was still recovering from her illness the next few days. She hung around the mansion the next few days in borrowed clothes, sometimes leafing through one of the books she'd periodically take down from the family room shelf. But most of the time, she simply sat in silence, staring off into space, demonstrating interest in nothing and no one.

Recognizing brooding when she saw it, Dinah just let her be for the most part, only occasionally pestering Cissie to eat the meals she prepared. Since she'd traded away several of her upcoming Watchtower shifts to monitor their houseguest, she mostly used her newfound free time to take care of some projects around the house—like finally planting those dahlia bulbs she'd been meaning to get to forever and make upgrades to her bike. She had no doubt Oliver would poke fun at her when she saw her adding even more gloss and gadgets, but Dinah knew he loved her as a biker babe.

Occasionally, she nudged at Cissie to try to extract information from her. It had all the success of arguing with a brick wall.

"Do you have anyone you need to call?" Dinah had tried that first morning Cissie had returned to her senses. "A mother? A father? Even a friend?"

Cissie had just glanced at her emotionlessly before hunching over her eggs. "No. There's no one."

Just like Oliver had told her Bats had said. But at least they hadn't accidentally kidnapped her.

Eventually, though, during their fourth day in the house together, Dinah wanted to try to distract Cissie from her moping, and the current state of Cissie's hair, long and blonde and getting more tangled by the day, gave her an idea. After arming herself with combs, brushes, leave-in conditioner, and dry oil, she went off to look for her, eventually finding her in the TV room, watching the news. Cissie had been tuning every so often in the past few days, and Dinah strongly suspected she was waiting for a particular story to appear.

Well, it wouldn't hurt her to take a break from the media.

Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, Dinah muted the TV, giving Cissie a welcoming smile when she looked at her inquiringly.

She held up the basket of hair supplies she'd brought into the room. "Thought I could do your hair for you. You mind?"

Cissie, either too drained to argue or simply not seeing any point in it, only gave a half-hearted shrug.

Dinah took it as permission and sat down on the couch beside her, shifting her sideways so she could start brushing her hair and work out all of the knots.

Cissie said nothing about it as Dinah began working the brush through her blonde locks, not even crying out as Dinah battled a few particularly stubborn tangles that almost refused to come loose. Knowing any kind of bonding activity between them would be useless if they both remained silent, Dinah was the one to start up a conversation.

"My mother used to do this for me when I was young, and I hated it," she confided in Cissie. "She had me in dance from I was four until I was twelve, and I swear her favorite part of my recitals was getting to do my hair beforehand. I could never stay still and I fidgeted and whined the whole time—it was one of the reasons I was glad to quit."

To her immense surprise, Cissie let a rusty chuckle at the anecdote.

"My mother was like that, too," she confided. Bitterness seeped into her voice. "I was her little dress-up doll, to style and play with however she wanted. She was the one who got me started in this business, you know."

Dinah paused, the hairbrush going still. "You mean, being a hero?"

"Yup," Cissie sounded almost bored. "Trained me since before I could walk. Had me homeschooled all my life so I'd have time for judo and ballet and, of course, archery. Little Miss Arrowette." Disgust entered her voice. "When I was twelve, she gave me my first costume. It was this white and gold bikini top with a skirt to match and a mask that had more rhinestones than a Forever21 dress. And she'd tease my hair into this big bouffant and use enough hairspray to make a hole in the ozone layer. Then she'd send me out to fight the bad guys."

It was the most personal information she had ever volunteered, and the act alone would have perturbed Dinah, let alone the actual content.

A mother forcing her daughter into being a superhero. It had been the opposite problem she'd had as a teenager—Dinah's mother had never wanted her to follow in her footsteps.

At least she had another piece of the puzzle that was Cissie, though.

"So that's why your mother lost custody?" she guessed. "And why you couldn't continue with the Young Justice team? You'd be a ward of the state—you wouldn't have been able to ask permission to continue with the team without revealing your identity to a lot of different people."

Cissie turned to look at her, a humorless smile twisting her lips and bringing her to look far older than her years. "Yeah. That, and there's no way they even would have let me stay on the team, anyway."

Feeling a rush of sympathy for girl who, bad attitude or not, had gotten stuck with a very raw deal in life, Dinah gave her shoulder a squeeze and met her eyes directly. "I'm sorry that happened to you, Cissie. I'm sorry for all of it."

Even in her pity, though, a rush of pride for Oliver and certainty for herself flooded through Dinah. She was glad that Oliver had reached out to Cissie initially and felt vindicated in her decision to have her remain at the house, even if she was avoiding state care in the process.

But there were still some unanswered questions.

"Cissie," she began, "that night you came to see Green Arrow, you'd been hiding out in the woods. What . . ."

She trailed off as Cissie suddenly whipped toward the TV, lunging for the remote and restoring the volume giving the screen her full attention as the headline Murder suspects possibly located scrolled across the bottom.

" . . . saying that the two bodies have been located in the woods not far from the Saint Elias School for Girls, where the school therapist, Dr. Marcey Money, was gunned down by her ex-fiance and an accomplice ten days ago. A manhunt commenced in the ensuing week and a half, resulting in the school being in lockdown mode since the murder. However, it is suspected that the two bodies removed from the woods are, in fact, the two wanted gunmen. While autopsy reports have not been released as this point, the scene and location indicate a bear attack."

The news report switched over to the weather forecast, and Cissie thumbed the power button on the remote, turning the TV off as she rose from the couch.

"They deserved worse," she muttered, trudging from the room and leaving Dinah staring after her.

* * *

Realistically, Dinah knew that she couldn't pawn off Watchtower duty forever, and that day came a week after Oliver left. While she was aware that Cissie was well enough to stay on her own at this point, she had severe reservations about leaving her alone in the house, both due to the potential security threat and Cissie's strange behavior after the news report.

So it was a relief when Roy showed up on their doorstep, fresh off from his contract work for Steve Dayton.

"Had some vacation time after finishing my latest job," he explained briefly, shifting almost imperceptibly as he spoke. After all of this time, he still wasn't entirely comfortable around her or Oliver. "Figured I'd stop by to see you two. Maybe we could grab dinner sometime?"

"Definitely," Dinah agreed, almost giddy at the easy solution that was practically hand-delivered to her. "Oliver's away right now, but I know he would love to see you. Say, Roy, could you do me a favor? You don't have any plans for today, do you?"

"Anything for you, Dinah," Roy offered good-naturedly.

"Great." Grabbing his arm, she all but dragged him inside. "Oliver and I have a guest at the moment, and I'm due at the Watchtower any minute." She led him into the kitchen, where Cissie was aimlessly striking matches and watching them burn into nothing, and quickly made introductions. "Cissie, this is Roy. He'll be staying with us for a day or two. Roy, this is Cissie. Or Scarlock. She's staying with us for . . . a while."

Cissie looked none too impressed at Roy's arrival, but Roy stared at her in astoundment for a moment before turning to Dinah with a look of incredulity. Dinah stifled a sigh, knowing that she'd likely have to go through the same round of suspicious questions Hal had asked one week earlier.

"I know," she said lowly to Roy. "I'll explain as soon as I get back from my shift."

Roy nodded, his expression still floored. "Yeah. Yeah, you probably should."

* * *

In actuality, Dinah ended up staying well past her shift—Vixen asked for a sparring session, and out of guilt for foisting off so many shifts recently, Dinah agreed. It was almost three hours after she had finished her official duties that Dinah finally made her way to the teleporter.

She was waylaid on her walk there, though, with Bruce swooping down upon her when she'd almost reached it.

"Evening, Bruce," she said, trying to keep it light. "You just get off work, too?"

Even from beneath his mask, she could tell he was scowling at her.

"I don't have time for games," he told her coolly. "And neither does Cissie, for that matter."

Dinah tried her best not to stiffen at the accusation, but she knew it was no use lying. "What do you know?"

"I can guess." Bruce folded his arms across his chest and stared at her impassively. "She came to Oliver a few days ago after running from the Elias School. You've been sheltering her since."

"Elias School?" It was the school that had been in the news report Cissie had watched. "Cissie was there?"

"Cissie was student there until ten days ago. She vanished abruptly after seeing her therapist shot to death in front of her. In the aftermath, the school then received a call, supposedly from her social worker, claiming that Cissie was being withdrawn immediately for her own safety. However, her actual social worker called soon after that to check on her, when it was revealed the first call had been made by an imposter." Bruce fixed her with an unflinching stare. "Were you involved in that?"

"Absolutely not," Dinah returned heatedly, her mind whirling with shock as she processed the new information. "Cissie came to us as Scarlock. She was hurt, and we took her in. She's been with us since then—but it's only been a week. I have no idea what she was doing those other three days."

Bruce didn't seem convinced. "Did Oliver have any part in this?"

"No." Dinah scowled at him. "If he had, he would have told me. He wouldn't have wanted Cissie to deal with it alone. Do you think Oliver would prevent a traumatized child from getting the help she needs?"

"You and I both know that Oliver sometimes thinks he knows what's best for everyone and isn't afraid to take matters into his own hands," Bruce replied.

Taking a deep breath, Dinah wove around him and continued on her way to the teleporters. "He didn't know. I'll tell him when he gets back. And speaking of getting back, I need to talk to Cissie, too. We need to figure this out," she muttered, half to herself.

God, if she'd felt sorry for Cissie before, it had doubled now. Whackjob stage mother who'd been bad enough for social services to intervene, and now witnessing a murder firsthand. While it was far from the worst of traumas Dinah had heard of in their line of work, tragedy wasn't a contest, not as far as she was concerned. And Cissie still needed help, not matter how prickly she could be.

The teleporter dropped her off in a small, dense grove of trees in their backyard, and she slipped out of the shadows, making her way toward the house. But she wasn't even halfway there when an odd cross between an ATV and a jet descended from the sky and landed on their lawn, its engine purring loudly and its seats occupied by members of the Young Justice team.

Closing her eyes, Dinah couldn't hold back an exasperated groan. So much for her and Oliver's secret identities.

But she didn't have time to worry about that, because Cissie emerged from the house, dressed in her hooded Scarlock outfit, carrying her quiver and bow.

"Skipping town?" Dinah asked, trying to keep glib for the moment, knowing it would be difficult to broach the events at the school with Cissie.

"Red Tornado's daughter has been kidnapped by some lunatic calling himself the Iron Hand, and his wife has been left in a coma," Cissie replied brusquely, not even bothering to say hello. "I owe him, so I'm going to help get her back."

"Maybe you shouldn't," Dinah tried to reason, reaching for her arm.

"You can't stop me," Cissie snarled, moving to stride off to the jet/ATV.

"Cissie," Dinah said gently, not knowing how the girl would react, "I know all about the Elias School."

The words brought Cissie to momentarily stop in her tracks, but then she shook her head. "It doesn't matter now."

And before Dinah could react or figure out whatever the reply meant, there was a blur of motion and then Cissie was sitting in jet/ATV beside Impulse. It was he and not Cissie who waved to Dinah as the vehicle, whatever it was, lifted off into the sky again with a roar of its engine and zoomed away.

Watching it go, Dinah's feeling of dread about Cissie, which had faded significantly in the week they'd spent together, now returned full force, mixing in with the sympathy she felt for her plight and the horror for what she'd witnessed. She couldn't help but wonder if Cissie, damaged as she was, would ever come back from her mission, or if she ever wanted to.

Suddenly wearier than she could ever remember, Dinah turned back to the house, only to find Roy walking out to join her.

"Quite the kid, isn't she?" he asked, his tone amused but serious. "Her friends come and ask her for help, and she runs off to see justice done without hesitating even a second." A hint of resignation entered his voice. "She's just like Ollie. You can really tell that she's her father's daughter."

For a moment, Roy's words didn't register with Dinah, and when they did, she was sure she must have misheard.

"Sorry," she said, blinking, wondering what he had said instead. "What was that?"

Roy glanced at her quizzically. "Ollie," he repeated. "You can really tell that he's her father. They're so much alike in personality, in looks—hell, we should ask Cissie how she likes her chili."

Shock coursing through her, Dinah only gaped at him for what felt like an eternity, but only could have been a few seconds, before a cheerful voice called out to them.

Speak of the devil, and the devil would appear.

"Hey, Roy! Hey, Dinah!" Oliver strode up to them from out of the grove of trees, closely followed by Hal. He frowned briefly. "Is Scarlock not around?"

Dinah was still rendered speechless and could only stare at him.

"You all right?" Oliver asked in concern. He glanced at Roy. "Is she okay?"

Meanwhile, Roy was staring at her. "You didn't know?" he asked in astonishment. "You didn't know that Cissie was his daughter? She looks just like him!"

"Cissie?" Hal said blankly, glancing from Roy, to Ollie, to Dinah. "Who's Cissie?

"Scarlock," Dinah grated out, finally managing to speak. "Cissie is Scarlock." She looked to Oliver. "And your daughter."

It made sense. That was why Cissie had looked familiar to the both of them—she looked like Oliver. That was why Roy had been so surprised when he'd first seen her—he hadn't thought she was just some girl they'd taken in, but a daughter of Oliver's that no one had told him about.

" Daughter? " Oliver choked out. "Scarlock is my daughter? That can't . . . no . . ."

"I thought the name was deliberate," Roy said, looking at each of them, still shocked. He shrugged helplessly. "Scarlock. It's one of the names that Will Scarlett went by in the ballads about Robin Hood." He looked at Oliver. "You'd be Robin Hood, and she'd be Will Scarlett."

"And they're related," Dinah realized, a distant piece of trivia returning to her. "They're brothers in the Costner version, but," she turned to Oliver, "you said that wasn't right, that they're usually cousins. Calling herself Scarlock was a way to let you know you two were connected. It was right there all along, waiting for us to figure it out."

Oliver groaned, his palm going to rest on his forehead. "And she didn't tell me her name was Scarlock until I spent that night in the slums with her—right after she told me I acted like Robin Hood. Of course. She went to see me so she could see what kind of man her father was. And she kept coming back to spend time with me. Her father. Oh, Jesus." He scrubbed at his eyes with both hands, then started toward the house. "Where is she? We need to talk."

Her heart sinking, Dinah exchanged a glance with Roy.

"You just missed her," she admitted. "She went off with the Young Justice team to rescue Red Tornado's daughter."

"Then let's saddle up and help her," Oliver said determinedly. "I'll just grab a fresh quiver and then—"

Dinah knew it was time to speak up. "Ollie, wait." She grabbed his arm. "Before we go off charging to the rescue, there are—" Her mind churned at the memory of Cissie's bitter recounting of her time with her mother and as she recalled what Bruce had told her.

She let out a sigh. "There some things about Cissie that you need to know."


	2. Chapter 2

"I have said all," quoth Robin, "and now, if thou wilt give me thy purse, I will let thee go thy way without let or hindrance so soon as I shall see what it may hold. I will take none from thee if thou hast but little."

"Alas! It doth grieve me much," said the other, "that I cannot do as thou dost wish. I have nothing to give thee. Let me go my way, I prythee. I have done thee no harm."

"Nay, thou goest not," quoth Robin, "till thou hast shown me thy purse."

"Good friend," said the other gently, "I have business elsewhere. I have given thee much time and have heard thee patiently. Prythee, let me depart in peace."

**_—The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_**

* * *

Every part of Cissie hurt, but her nose, her ears, and the tips of her toes and fingers hurt the worst, burning with cold. She couldn't ever remember being this cold before.

She could never remember being in a situation this hopeless before.

Snow blasted toward her, whipping at her from what seemed like every direction, piling onto the already snow-covered wasteland. Visibility was virtually nonexistent; even if the wind hadn't been howling so violently and bringing her eyes to tear each time she looked up, the amount and speed of the falling snow prevented her from being able to see so much as three feet ahead.

Cissie wasn't too familiar with outdoor survival—tracking Marcey's killers through the forest had been the first time she'd even done anything like that—primarily because her mother hadn't bothered to teach her anything that wouldn't make a good photo op. But she knew enough to tell that she was in a very, very bad situation.

Marcey. Cissie's heart still burst with anger and pain at the thought of the woman who'd cared about her, the woman who'd tried to help her, the woman she'd watched die before her very eyes.

Gunned down by some angry lunatic who couldn't handle being rejected.

She was goddamn glad that motherfucker and his friend were mauled to death by that grizzly. She hadn't witnessed it, but with her night-vision goggles, she'd spotted that bear wandering through the woods, and she could put two and two together. She'd heard their screams as she been trying to follow their trail through the forest, realized what was happening, and decided to get the hell out of Dodge.

She could still hear their screams some nights, echoing in her head as she lay awake at night in that guest room she'd been given at Dinah's mansion. But they were quickly drowned out by the sounds of Marcey's own agonized shrieks as the bullets pierced one kneecap and then the other.

The last bullet had made her go silent.

They'd let Cissie live. They'd had no beef with her, evidently, so killing her probably wouldn't have given them the same rush as killing Marcey had. The idiot accomplice had left behind a phone set to record—bastards had planned watch the video they'd made and relive the experience later on.

God, she hoped they'd suffered when that bear had ripped them apart.

Another gust of wind roared past her, tearing at her suit and ripping off her hood for the umpteenth time. Snow settled around her shoulders and neck; she could feel it melting in her hair, adding to the icicles that had already frozen there.

She was probably going to die out here, Cissie realized wearily. Shame. She'd had such a long, full life to live.

At least they'd rescued Traya. She was glad that she'd managed to do that. Red Tornado had been a good friend to her, helping her that first night she'd arrived at the Secret Sanctuary with an arrow through her shoulder, giving her a place on the team, and fighting to keep them going even when the Justice League had tried to shut them down. She'd owed him. If she was going to die, she was glad it was with the knowledge that she'd repaid his kindness.

Iron Hand had brought Traya to another dimension, but they'd managed to follow him there and give him the smackdown of his life. But the portal back had been closing, and there hadn't been time to get through. Cissie had pushed Robin and Traya ahead of her, and Robin had reached out to pull her in, too, but he just wasn't fast enough, and neither was she.

The last thing Cissie had seen was the horror and desperation on Robin's face before she'd been transported to whatever kind of Arctic wasteland this place was. It was a gamble of if she was even on Earth anymore.

Well, she might not have been on Earth, but Cissie would guess there was some kind of sun. Because, she noticed as she glanced around as best she could, that the sky seemed like it was getting darker up ahead.

Letting out a sigh and momentarily reveling in the warm sensation of her own breath on her face, Cissie hastened her pace as much as she could, but there wasn't much she could do to speed up her trudge through the snow. She didn't even know where she was going, but she kept moving only because she suspected she wouldn't last long if she stood still for any significant amount of time.

If she did die out here, she could die with the knowledge she'd gotten to meet her father. Green Arrow. He seemed like a good guy—he'd stood up for her.. And he stood up for the people of his city. He cared about what was happening to them. And Dinah—if she and Green Arrow were married, that made her Cissie's stepmother. She'd been nice, too, even when Cissie had acted like a punk. Plus, that motorcycle of hers was really cool.

She'd never told them that Green Arrow was her father. Only fiver other people knew: Bart, Secret, Kon, Cassie, and Robin. They were sworn to secrecy on the matter.

And Cissie might die here without ever having the chance to meet him.

But at least then he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of losing her. He wouldn't have to mourn her. If he even wanted to mourn her, that was.

However, her grim musings were interrupted when she walked smack into some kind of stone wall. The impact didn't even hurt; her face was too numbed by the cold to feel pain. Cissie was more interested in what the wall meant than checking herself for injuries, anyway.

A wall likely indicated a building, a shelter of some kind. And even if it didn't and was some kind of garden wall, it could still mean that shelter was nearby.

Carefully, she pressed herself against the wall as she slowly began to move along it, blindly groping for some kind of entrance. She made it around one corner and then maybe twenty more paces before she quite literally stumbled across some large, hard obstacle in her path. At first she thought it might have been a boulder, but when she knelt down for closer inspection, she realized they were steps.

Steps. She'd found her entrance.

After feeling around for few moments more, Cissie located the handrail and gripped it with both hands as she hauled herself up the stairs. She managed to get to the door and was too cold and impatient to hesitate after finding it locked, merely forcing it open by alternately ramming it with her shoulder and kicking it in. Finally, the wood buckled under the force and swung inward, allowing her entry into the darkness within.

Straining to see after spending what was probably hours in white-out conditions, Cissie kept the door open temporarily, even if she was spooked by the way it continually creaked and groaned in the wind. Using the faint light, she was able to just discern that she was in a small chapel of some kind, with a crucifix looming overhead at the far wall. The polished wooden pews gleamed in the dim illumination of a few candles that remained lit by the altar, and after scanning the room a few times, she located a utility lighter and a few fresh candles in an alcove. She made her way over and grabbed them, lighting one of the candles and trying not to feel creeped out by the statue of the Virgin Mary that stood on a dias above her, gazing down.

"Don't judge me," Cissie told her, mostly just to reassure herself she was still capable of speech. "I just had to trek through a snowstorm. At least you got to ride a donkey through the desert."

Turning away, she went back to the door close it and block out the cold, but she found that it was too damaged to stay shut.

Dammit, couldn't she just get a break sometime?

Annoyance giving her strength, Cissie grabbed a nearby table of prayer books, upended it so its contents slid to the floor, and then dragged it to barricade the door. Then she took her candle back up with her to the front of the chapel.

There was some kind of tablecloth and table runner on the altar; they both probably had some fancy name for them, but Cissie wasn't big on religion. She'd been raised in the Church of Bonnie, but she was happy to say she'd left the faith.

The table runner was wide, at least a few feet, and maybe ten feet in length. Folding it in half lengthwise, Cissie took it to front pew and laid it on the seat to provide a barrier between herself and the cold wood. Then she grabbed the tablecloth, folded that crosswise and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders before climbing onto the pew and lying down.

She knew she shouldn't go to sleep. She should get up and search for food and water, see if she could make a fire by using the candles and some of those Bibles.

But she was so tired. She didn't have the energy to move. She just wanted to sleep.

She might die, Cissie realized. She still might die, just die in her sleep right here in this church.

Somehow it hardly seemed important.

Closing her eyes, Cissie could feel herself drifting off, too tired to resist for long. But she didn't feel scared or panicked. She just felt relieved.

Sometime after she'd fallen asleep, she awoke to a gentle touch on her hair, and Cissie became aware that someone was sitting beside her. Straightening, she looked up, expecting to be forced to strain her eyes in order to see through the dark, but there was no need.

Marcey sat beside her, clearly visible in spite of the dark, her black hair swept up in her signature updo and her green eyes sparkling with good humor, just like they always had when she was alive.

As Cissie simply stared, too surprised to even move, Marcey reached out and gently pressed a hand to Cissie's cheek, holding it there with a tenderness Cissie had never before experienced. It felt like something a mother might have done.

"Not yet," Marcey said softly, smiling at her. "Not yet."

Cissie was about to apologize, about to tell Marcey how sorry she was for what had happened, but as she looked into Marcey's eyes, she found Marcey's image fading away. But Cissie wasn't alone. There was someone else there with her, someone who also had green eyes.

Someone who had blond hair just like her own.

Her eyes couldn't focus enough to be sure, but Cissie thought it was her father.

"Dad?" she managed, her voice almost too weak to be audible.

"I'm here." The voice was strong and rich, and a pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to his warm body. "I'm here, Cissie."

"Suzanne," Cissie gasped out. "My name is Suzanne."

"Suzanne," he repeated. "Suzanne, you're safe now."

He lifted her up, holding her tightly, carrying her away from it all.

And for the first time in a long time, Cissie felt at peace, if just for the moment.


End file.
